


After the fireplace

by Mme10thDoctor



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Fix-It, Friendship, GitF Fix-it, Humor, Introspection, Jealousy, Light Angst, Missing Scene, POV Multiple, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 01:04:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10560762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mme10thDoctor/pseuds/Mme10thDoctor
Summary: Where the Doctor is spaced out, Rose not amused, Mickey pretty smug, and the TARDIS fed up.





	1. Once upon a time

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my beloved dachshund, gone suddenly and way too soon. RIP mon doux bébé.
> 
> Unbetaed. Every single mistake is mine.

**Chapter 1: Once upon a time**

The Doctor was displeased. Displeased as in annoyed, disgruntled, and not happy at all, to say the least. 

He had come back home, on the TARDIS, just to find Rickey the idiot glued, like fly paper, to Rose; his left arm wrapped around her shoulders and his right hand holding hers... really tightly.

Not that he had _noticed_ , or had the right to protest, just think, or worse, _feel_ something about the issue —namely something that had a tad to do with certain green-eyed monster, yet he couldn't help but assess the almost non-existent space between them, and that Rose allowed it. 

She should have, on the contrary, whacked his wandering hands to make him understand, without a shadow of a doubt, with whom she was at present.

Maybe not. It wasn't because she had, more or less, broken up with her boyfriend, that she was with someone else: namely, him.

Incidentally, had she really broken up with Mickey? They seemed to have made up pretty well during those hours alone; as a part of himself, who had decidedly _noticed_ , whispered in his ear despite his efforts to make it shut up. 

What was he thinking when he had accepted, so enthusiastically, for her stupid boyfriend to travel with them? Despite Rose's silent _no_ he had very well read on her lips and eyes.

Ah, yes! He knew very well what he was thinking: the blue funk.

He had felt backed into a corner, his —true— feelings laid bare, and served up to the first Dalek who would go into the trouble of thinking about something else than exterminate the other half of the Universe.

Of course, Rose, hadn't anything to do with a Dalek; for first, she was beautiful and compassionate, then she was smart, quick-thinking, perfect and so... Rose.

_He_ was the problem: faced with her, he felt so vulnerable and more and more every day powerless to keep his countenance and feelings to himself (hence Mickey the buffer).

It scared him to death that his feelings made him so weak and dependant on her, that the very idea of losing her made his blood freeze.

It was way he had made his poxy speech, exiting the chip shop: he had told her not enough and at the same time almost too much. He had, virtually, admitted that he loved her more than as a simple companion. 

The whole wrapped in grandiloquent words which would have made cry laughing every thatched cottages in the area, if it hadn't been said without the slightest common sense and with so much fury, exasperation and powerlessness all together.

To his great relief, and just in time, he had got a grip on himself; by chance, the Krillitane, plunging on them, wings and teeth deployed, had diverted their attention towards a less slippery and dangerous direction.

The whole fuss with Sarah Jane had disturbed him; to be sure, he had been more than delighted to see her again —after all those years— but she had also reminded him that he had behaved like the utter boor he truly was, at least from time to time.

Leaving aside the fact that she had thrown in his face, just being there, the very thing he dreaded most: the fragility and brevity of human life.

The passing of time had woven a spider's web on her beautiful, intelligent face which evoked the one —yet invisible to the naked eye— which cracked his hearts. 

His own spider's web reminded him, all too well, his own age and lifespan so very different from his beloved humans —from Rose's.

Moreover, Sarah Jane, had brought him face to face with his desertion and her not so platonic feelings for him. To his great dismay, despite all his efforts in order to seem unaware of said feelings, during their time as travelling companions, all of this was, at present, out in the open and had exploded right in his face.

Back then, things had become more and more complicated, and he couldn't have been ignorant —or fake ignorance— anymore; thence, he had simply done the same thing he had always excelled in: he had run at full speed.

Concerning Sarah Jane, he had taken advantage of a phony pretext —well, become, _over time_ , phony— to, well and truly, dump her; apparently, it hadn't even been the right place, but at least it was the right year, wasn't it?

To complicate a situation which was already complicated, there had been Rose's —as negative as unexpected, at least for him— response to the other woman; firstly, they had had a catfight _over him_ , then they had befriended each other for, finally, make fun of him.

Mickey had joined the party and had rubbed even more salt in his wounds: he had taken perverse pleasure (and revenge) in tormenting —mocking, to be honest— him about his so-called exploits worthy of a failed Casanova.

He, a Time Lord, who came from an ancient and superior race, who was supposed to be above all those human's emotions and urges he could easily master. It was a topsy-turvy world, the pot calling the kettle black!

Well, above all those aforementioned human things... until he had met Rose, of course.

She had succeeded in mangling and discomposing all his beliefs and diktats, and had sent them get lost; in fact, every passing day made his defences weaker and weaker and made his walls crumble like dominoes. 

To complete this disaster, and get him caught up in his own discrepancies and entrenchments, Rose had cornered him with her questions and doe eyes.

 

The Doctor, had just reversed route through the last functioning gate between the past and the future; his hearts were heavy from Madame de Pompadour's premature death and his pocket and his conscience weighted by her posthumous letter.

It was a slap from the fate to think that a simple object like a fireplace had represented the beginning and the end of an adventure and a whole life. He didn't dare to linger over the meaning for Rose and himself and their unsinkable friendship.

After his ordeal, he needed some comforting; and he had hoped to find it in Rose's arms. Alas, he had found her, quite the opposite, completely wrapped in that stupid ape's arms —the very stupid ape _he_ had had the detrimental idea to let on board.

It had been the coup de grâce.

That said, neither Rose seemed pleased. At all. She had, nevertheless, dashed, although hesitant, towards him.

To top it all, Mickey had held her back and dragged her to visit the TARDIS, as if he feared that the Doctor's bad-news face meant that he would unfurl the Oncoming Storm on them, on Rose.

Of course Mickey was wrong; he would never hurt her, even though he had, apparently, done just that. 

While he watched with sombre eyes the couple move away hand in hand into the bowels of his ship, he told himself that all this was another failure; it cost him so much to be indebted to Rickey the idiot for being there for his pink and yellow girl when _he_ hadn't.

To make a long story short, not only that stupid ape had stolen his girlfriend (as if) giving him a baleful look, but he had understood the Doctor's need for an alone-time. Rassilon he hated all this!

To divert himself from his more than uncomfortable thought —and jealousy, he had read Madame de Pompadour's letter, which hadn't brightened up his mood, nor reduced his bad conscience. 

In short, it was a complete débâcle.

He had messed everything up, and two days in a row, was becoming really a lot, even for him: firstly Sarah Jane, who had given him her piece of mind, then demanded a proper goodbye, then this far-reaching fiasco in the fireplace affair.

He had to rectify things before the ambiance in the TARDIS became uncomfortable, or even unbreathable notwithstanding his respiratory bypass, and, if you asked him, it was a mere understatement.

In addition, there was the incalculable danger of seeing Rose pack up and leave for good.

The Doctor sighed to chase away his hare-brained ideas for they wouldn't have done him any good, nor saved time; if he lingered over his blunders with Rose, he would have to spend one regeneration —or two all together— on the matter.

♀♂

Rose and Mickey had finished visiting the TARDIS' most interesting rooms —at least those the TARDIS deemed interesting enough for two young earthlings— and had found a room for him in the same corridor as Rose's. 

They sat on her bed, side by side; her mask had, finally, crumbled and she cried in the safety of Mickey's arms, who patted her back, hugging her gently, while he whispered sweet nonsenses into her ear.

Deep down, however, he was dancing on the _I told you, he's not different, he's just a bloke_ song. He wouldn't, of course, pour water on a drowning man, well woman, but to see Rose endure the very same thing she had made him suffer, gave him, all the same, a sort of... satisfaction, even though he knew it was a bit petty. 

The best part of him, however, winned the fight with flying colours; despite the aforementioned secret satisfaction of seeing Rose suffer because of a man who had made him suffer, he was truly pained to see her let loose her tears over someone who, if you asked him, wasn't worth them. But it was just a personal opinion, innit?

The Doctor, after all, even alien, and despite his pretended importance, was no different from Jimmy Stone; and, Mickey, itched to give him a well deserved punch on his aristocratic nose.

"Don't cry, Rose, he's just an idiot. Alien, but idiot all the same."

"I thought I- I truly believed I was important to him, that I was different!" Rose couldn't stop sobbing, "he had promised, he wouldn't do that to _me_. I should have figured he would, after what he did to Sarah Jane. He _promised_. And look what he does: just a day later, he leaves us on that bloody spaceship and jumps on his horse, a white horse, Mickey, to go save that... that..."

"Hussy. The word you're looking for, is hussy, but if you like, I can suggest other epithets, a bit more... colourful: there're plenty more where that one came from. It would do you good to get it off your chest, and insult her a bit. You know, it works for them both, in the feminine and in the masculine, the insulting, that is. Or we can tape up a pic or two on the door and play darts."

Rose laughed a bit through her tears. "It reminds me of mum, and how she loves to throw things when she's upset. Especially breakable things."

"You can toss any object you like, as long as it does you good. I can even play darts with you, I've got, myself, something to sort out with certain moron ET!" 

"Oh, Mickey, I'm so sorry, I haven't- Oh dear, here am I, crying my eyes out over him, with you, when you must have all the reasons to hate me," she said, overcome with shame.

"It's all right babe. You and I, our couple, belongs to the past. To be honest, it had been over a long time before he arrived with his cauliflower ears and his James Bond in leather look. Both of us have clung to a carefree and safe relationship, but it wasn't fair, either for you, or for me."

Rose tried to interrupt him, to deny which she knew in her heart to be true, but Mickey raised his hand to stop her, so she stayed silent.

"It's been great between us, but it's in the past. We're still brilliant together, as mates; and I would lie if I told you that it had never been a time where I still believed and hoped, despite everything, but I've always been aware that it was just a dream, a part of us I wasn't ready to let go, yet."

Rose nodded. "I know, but it was good between us, innit?" 

"Yeah, but I've always been certain you were destined for something better, and I wouldn't be enough, or be the one you really want. And, honestly, I, too, deserve better: I deserve to be wanted and needed, I want to make my way through life other than the Powell Estate, be a mechanic or the tin dog."

"Don't say that. You're braver and better than anyone I know, better than he is: he fled, you stayed."

"I didn't have a choice, did I? And I'm not the one you're in love with."

"Not _in_ love, maybe, but love nevertheless."

"Ditto. I love you too, babe, and I'm all right with it." 

"You'll always have a special place in my heart, Micks, you've always been my best friend and always will, whatever happens. I'll always cherish every single moment we've shared, all ours memories, and not a soul will ever steal that from us." Rose lifted her chin towards him and kissed him tenderly on his lips.

Mickey was well aware that it was a goodbye kiss, and was truly fine with it, so he let himself kiss her goodbye too. 

He was still hugging her tightly, and, if only for the blink of an eye, he let himself get lost in the past. There was a time when they were happy and carefree, everything was less complicated, less alien, to be honest. No, not just alien, but when there wasn't an alien in a leather jacket —who had stolen his dreams— full stop.

Neither of them heard the squeaking noise of Converse drawing away through the corridors.

♀♂

The Doctor didn't know if he should have been livid, taken aback, or distraught. Perhaps the three at the same time.

He had walked away from the Control Room —and his musings— to look for Rose and apologise for leaving them on that bloody spaceship. To be really honest, he wanted to apologise for leaving _her_. 

As for Mickey, it was another matter, especially at present: he would —should— have let the mad robot cut the boy to shreds. He was feeling, himself, a not so charitable drive towards that idiot. Well, neither charitable nor small, as he was literally livid and inflamed with jealousy. 

He had heard Rose's voice coming from her room, so he had walked closer to enter the room and talk to her; what he had seen from his place by the door, had stabbed him into his hearts. 

They were giving each other the mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, packed like sardines.

_He_ was the one who should have needed to be resuscitated: his hearts had stopped beating, and his respiratory bypass hadn't kicked in soon enough to prevent him from feeling the lack of oxygen.

His Rose. 

How did Rickey the idiot dare get his dirty mitts on her? How could she not only consent to it, but welcome his touch and even reciprocate with such fervour that she hadn't heard him coming?

What? _His_ Rose?

What, in the name of Rassilon, gave him the right to use the possessive? He had no rights over her. None whatsoever. Aucun, nessuno, nought, Null, cero.

The only right he could think of, was the one given to a very much in love Time Lord, the very same Time Lord who had lost the love of his lives fleeing from the woman who loved him.

He had been aware that she loved him, or had loved him, at least as best friend, maybe more, until he put his foot in his mouth, that is.

How could she still love him after this wreckage?

Anyway. She would, forever, be his Rose, no matter how many regenerations, how many faces he would be in, or how many faux-pas he would —and he will, for sure— make.

He had a lot on his plate if he wanted to set things right, make her forgive fim and, most of all, make her dump, again, her boyfriend.

Serious apologies were de rigueur. Maybe even a trip on a Romantic Planet, where they could lose, preferably definitively, the third TARDIS' traveller, and do, in peace, a lot of... well, romantic, stuff.

Well, that would be perfection; but there was just a teeny triviality: she could never forgive him and opt for never, ever, talk to him. 

Sighing, the Doctor, looked up in the TARDIS' database; there had to be the perfect Planet for the perfect date —and the perfect girl— and he would find it.


	2. Alone time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still unbetaed.
> 
> Sorry for my very bad pun about Mademoiselle Poisson: in French poisson means fish, and I just couldn't help myself.

**Chapter 2: Alone time**

Rose had promised herself that she would avoid the Doctor for the time being; in fact, she didn't feel brave enough to keep herself together and do as if nothing had happened.

She was terrorised at the idea of losing control and allow herself to yell at him, or breaking down and cry like a baby just by seeing him, or, worse, launch herself at him and kiss away any trace left by that... courtesan.

At any rate, none was the magic remedy to keep her feeling for the Doctor from being discovered —and make a fool of herself; that's way, if she wanted to be able to look at him again, and don't go as red as a beetroot with shame, she had to hide them, play the part, and give an Oscar winning performance. 

In her state of mind, and until she had regained her composure and would be able to swallow their latest adventure —be over it for good, that is— it was, obviously, out of question to rush headlong into a new one; thus, she was hiding.

Mickey, her oldest and closest friend, had set about bringing her a tray, and helped her, as much as he could, vanishing into thin air and be untraceable for certain alien.

As he was honest with himself, Mickey could easily admit that he wasn't free of ulterior motive either; if the Time Lord kept being the perfect big moron, Mickey would have more than a chance to have his revenge, and make the Doctor swallow his own medicine (pun intended).

Yet he knew for a fact that Rose was madly in love with the Doctor, and would, finally —and unlike himself— forgive him; no matter how rude, moron, or untrustworthy that alien was. 

"Rose, you can't hide all your life, one of these days you'll have to face him."

Rose just shook her head in a silent denial. 

"You know, he's starting to wonder about things. I don't believe he has bought what I've tried to sell him. And even more: if the way he's staring at me is a clue, he's convinced I've killed you and have cut your body into pieces."

"Nah. He's just brooding about Mrs. Fish or something." She sniffed.

"Seriously, what happened to the Rose who faced everything, even the scariest? Who has given Jimmy Stone a black eye and has left head high? And, honestly, the Doctor is not the most creepy alien I've seen."

"You haven't seen him change before your eyes."

" _That_ must have been really creepy! But you stayed, didn't you?"

She smiled but insisted. "I'm not ready. I've so much to ponder over before facing him."

"I've known you more as a fighter than a ponderer."

"Well, I'll fight later. Right now, I ponder."

"The sooner, the better! In my opinion the more you wait, the harder it will be for you to get out elegantly."

"I know. I just need to fabricate my _happy face_ and not crumble before him. I haven't got the strength to leave, full stop. I know it'd be the better choice to keep my heart partially intact, and to keep my dignity, even though I run the risk of being kicked out the TARDIS as soon as another true blonde will appear."

"That's it, babe! There, I recognise you! But, just so you know, you don't have to worry a bit. He'll never kick you out, even he's a worse flirt than Captain Cheesecake."

"Please, don't remind me _that_!" She exhaled.

"It's true. _Cleo_ doesn't ring any bell? But, at least, the cheesy Captain gives as much as he promises, whereas the Doctor..." Mickey said sounding extremely smug.

"Do you reckon I'm petty and immature to be... jealous? I comprehend that I've no claim whatsoever to lay, and we're not like that, never had, but... I can't help myself, I can't get out. Moreover, he has made me believe I was special." 

"Rose, you _are_ special. And that's not a matter of rights or no rights, or if this is fair or not to feel like you feel. You love him, you are scared of losing him, even as a friend, this is only normal and natural —and entirely human. Don't compare a human and someone who's not. Human, that is. Although I don't reckon he's normal either, even for an alien." 

Rose, finally, laughed wholeheartedly at Mickey's half-mocking, half-serious statement.

I guess, you're not inclined towards a film, aren't you? Just to have fun and show me that media room of yours, which I've been told is really impressive? It would do us both good." Mickey was already by the door.

"Maybe later. Ask the TARDIS, and she'll show you the way. She's always had a soft spot for me."

"Even if you've ripped her apart? Should I trust her? I've helped you, after all."

Rose pretended to stuck her leg out to trip Mickey up; he dodged it sticking out his tongue.

"You'll be fine, she won't throw you into a Supernova."

"The TARDIS, maybe not, but I wouldn't bet my face about the Doctor."

"Nah. He's just pulling your leg."

 

♀♂

 

If the TARDIS had had hair, she would have pulled it out of frustration and exasperation. 

She was fed up to the back of her thief's and her wolf's behaviour: he was so oblivious that he couldn't hit the broad side of a barn, and her pink and yellow girl was out to lunch about her designated driver (and the whole fireplace affair, obviously). It was af if she were the only adult on board, which, in a way, was true as she was the oldest one among them.

Moreover, both were sulking and pining for each other, and she knew for a fact (she was sentient and telepathic, after all) that they were helplessly in love with each other, but too stubborn and scared to do something about it. 

It was time to take matters into her capable hands, so to speak. A little push here, a well placed door there, and it would be in the bag. Well, it would be _when_ she would have made the Doctor understand, willingly or not, that it was up to him.

That said, she wished she could strangle the Time Lord with his own tie; she couldn't do that, of course, but she could, now and then, electrocute him a bit. 

 

♀♂

 

Alone with her feelings and musings, Rose collapsed on her bed, ankles crossed and hands behind her head, fixing the ceiling without seeing it; she needed to organise things in her mind and make a clean sweep in the whirlwind of her emotions.

Everything was so chaotic and interwoven, so many feelings battling for dominance, that if she didn't focus on one at a time, she would be drowned.

Betrayal was, of course, the loudest and asked to be addressed first.

She knew she wasn't, in the slightest, entitled to feel betrayed, except as travelling companion and the Doctor's friend: _he_ was supposed to protect the TARDIS' occupants, not to endanger and abandon them.

In her opinion, he had also betrayed their mutual trust, for he hadn't trusted her on _this_ particular affair.

It would've been better to draw a veil over her irrational —although pretty real— jealousy: Jabe, Lynda with a Y, Sarah Jane... and, ahem, the _other_ woman. 

She had been worried to death about the Doctor, asking herself for hours and hours —five and a half, to be precise— how would, _all of them_ , save their own skin.

She had, of course, visualised the Doctor thrown in the worst circumstances in the world: regenerated, dead full stop, stuck for millennia without hope to come back home (if, however, he had had the slightest intention of coming back, that is), spending, joyfully, the rest of Madame de Pompadour's life in her arms, or even executed for serious affront to the Sovereign.

Obviously, _he_ hadn't been her only ground for worry; she felt responsible for Mickey, her mother, and the TARDIS, who, several days later, was still emitting a clearly displeased hum. 

Rage, also, made her blood boil: Rose was absolutely furious at him for abandoning them, but she was also furious at herself for falling in love with that —randy with every being in a skirt but her— stupid alien, and for still hoping after all.

She was also overwhelmed when she thought about Louis XV's mistress. She couldn't still cope with her success in 'stealing' the Doctor from his, ahem, friends, when she had already a lover —and a powerful one. All she had to do was act the damsel in distress, when she was everything but.

Jeanne Antoinette Poisson had known the Doctor her entire life, that was a fact, but how long had he spent with her? Was it enough to fall in love? Rose suspected that Madame de Pompadour had seen in the Doctor only the things she had wanted to see. Was it true love, or manipulation from her childhood's souvenirs?

Rose couldn't help but understand —and agree, despite herself— the Doctor's appeal on women, no matter the species: he was gorgeous, charismatic, mysterious, brave, charming, boyish with his galaxy of freckles, but at the same time he was sombre, rude, full of rage, pain and passion, and so melancholic. 

In short, he was utterly perfect with his imperfections. And she loved him so much.

Rose was hurt and disappointed with herself for not being _her_ , for that woman was so much more than she was, just the one the Doctor seemed to need. And if the Doctor's behaviour was an indication, Rose was not.

She was feeling more powerless than ever in her life. She didn't know what to do. Should she stay and endure hundreds of Madame de Pompadour, loving him at a distance, and hoping that he'd never find out the truth? Should she fight for (or against) him, for herself? Should she go?

Was it worth the pain?

Rose hated to make references to him, as an ideal to escape full speed from to prevent her heart from being shattered, or the one to try to reach in the hope that, one day, she would earn his esteem, and, who knows, his love.

She felt, very much, a stupid ape. She had taken his exclusive friendship and affection for granted, and had behaved like an only child: as if his life had begun when he had met her, and he hadn't had centuries worth of memories, adventures and friends, only to discover that he had a past and that she had to share.

So, she had to become an adult and be responsible for her actions and feelings. She had to take him for who he truly was, let go her lack of self-confidence, and, given time, hopefully, stop loving him helplessly.

Of course she was human, it couldn't be helped, and being jealous of the Doctor's past, was a big part of the equation; besides, her own past hadn't prevented her from falling in love with him with all her heart, so...

The Doctor had a past, indeed he had. It was _this_ past which had forged him into the man she had met; so would it be remarkably traumatising to accept him fully? Past and present? And, who knows, future?

He had welcomed her hand and foot, and had loved her enough —even as a mere friend— to give her a part of himself and share the thrilling of a life of adventure and let her fill the emptiness with his hand to hold.

If _he_ accepted her, so would she, even though she had been —almost, but not quite— tempted, for the briefest moment, to take Sarah Jane's offer and ask for shelter. 

At present it was null and void: she would do her best to enjoy her life (with him?) and think no more, or, at least not too much, about the what-ifs and requited or unrequited love.

 

♀♂

 

Later, and after a decidedly needed relaxing bath, Rose's step —or more so, the TARDIS— led her before a door she hadn't noticed hitherto which, noiselessly, slid open, inviting her in implicitly.

"You want me in, old girl?" Rose asked.

The TARDIS emitted a gentle hum in acquiescence, and Rose entered the room looking around.

As soon as she was in, the door slid shut once again.

The room, sort of storage space, sported a dozen screens, some of which were lighted up, and just as many shelving unit as the screens above. The shelving unit was organised in compartments full to the brim with clothing items and many and varied objects.

Even though the room looked particularly high tech —and in some ways very alien and so Doctorish, it was surprisingly cosy and serene with its soft lighting.

Rose moved, carefully, closer to the lighted screens where eight faces, she didn't recognise, were fixing her with a contemplative look. 

Heart beating very fast, she moved even closer to the one face she, indeed, recognised: cropped hair, heartbreaking beautiful blue eyes, imposing nose, ears that stuck out her first Doctor was looking at her with a soft smile and eyes full of mischief and affection.

"Doctor!" Rose sobbed holding out her hand to touch his beautiful, and so beloved, face that stayed alive only in her memories. 

"Rose, so you stayed?" the Ninth Doctor whispered in awe. 

Rose shuddered out of surprise to hear him address to her, as if he were still there and hadn't changed before her eyes.

"Doctor, it's really you? Are you truly my Doctor?"

"Of course, it's me, who should I be, a stupid ape?" This time, his epithet was affectionate, and he was smiling from ear to ear at her.

Rose smiled despite the tears that still dampened her cheeks. If she hadn't know the TARDIS' unparalleled capacities, not naming her designated driver's virtually limitless powers, she would have believed herself in an insane dream, thrown up to her neck into a Sci-Fi film, or even into a Harry Potter book. 

As unbelievable as it seemed, her Doctor was there. She could lose herself in his expressive eyes that no cloud obscured anymore. She could hear his voice again and dream, just for a moment, that he hadn't changed and was still with her. No murderous Daleks' fleet. No Krillitanes, nor fireplaces which had reduced her heart to ashes.

"So you stayed."

"Of course, I stayed! How could I not? I-" She censored the admission which was burning to get freed. 

"I wouldn't have thought, never hoped, you would stay, even less through a regeneration. I reckoned I had a bit more time with this face. I wished for you to have a fantastic life, remember? Not witness me change. You have, haven't you?"

Rose lowered her gaze. "Yeah. One moment you were there, talking about dogs with no noses, and then, poof, there's the hedgehog you prattling around." 

"Hedgehog, hu-huh."

Suddenly, very conscious, she slapped a hand over her mouth. "Gosh. I shouldn't have told you this, should I? What about the Reapers?"

"Don't worry about them. So I've changed..."

"How did you know you have changed? I mean, you knew before my blunder." 

The Ninth Doctor winked at her. "Evidence number one: I felt myself regenerating. Evidence number two: I'm here, after all."

"Doctor, I miss you so much!"

"What? This daft, old face?"

"I've always thought you were beautiful," she said fidgeting with her earrings, feeling her ears and face burning. 

He smiled seeming, suddenly, shy. "Nah," he shook his head, "you can't miss me, Rose, I'm here, with another face, obviously, but still me, the old chap Doctor. Am I pretty, this time around?" 

"You are, always, beautiful."

"Beautiful is for a woman, have I become a woman?"

Rose laughed, "Fine, you are drop dead gorgeous. Different gorgeous, but gorgeous. And still very manly!"

"Am I... ginger?" he asked her, suddenly serious.

"No," Rose laughed, reminiscent, all of a sudden, of certain conversation on the Sycorax spaceship. 

"You are sort of brown." She clarified.

"For shame! I wanted to be ginger, ginger is good. Tsk-tsk, always rude me and not even ginger. Things doesn't really change, innit?"

"And you know it because..." she asked maliciously.

"The TARDIS seems to be livid at me, and she wouldn't have brought you here, if it hadn't been for a major crisis. Knowing myself as I do: I _am_ a major crisis. What happened? What have I done this time? Have I called you _stupid ape_ again?" 

Sighing, Rose, begun narrating the whole affair: from New Earth to an alien werewolf, from Deffry Vale and Sarah Jane, to Versailles, _you sound like your mother_ and Banana Daiquiris, his abandonment to save Jeanne Antoinette Poisson despite the danger —for Mickey and herself— of being dissected alive by mad robots. And concluded her narration describing —with tears in her eyes— the Doctor's broken hearts learning about Madame de Pompadour's death.

The Ninth Doctor listened, arms crossed, without interrupting; but his expression became the more tempestuous, the more she narrated the facts. 

"I wouldn't, ever, have done this, Rose, and in my right mind I wouldn't have invited Rickey the idiot on board. Well, apparently, future me has become an idiot growing older. But do not believe, even for a moment, that's what you think, it's just impossible! You are special to me, never doubt it."

Rose, incredulous, shook her head. "But you has abandoned us, Mickey and me, to run after _her_. I'm not special, after all. _She_ was."

"Yes, you are. And no, she couldn't have been _that_ special to me. If I know someone, is myself, and I know for a fact that I wouldn't have fallen in love with her, or someone else, for that matter. Not when... You know, don't you?" he asked sounding, for the first time, a little insecure.

"I don't know what to think or believe anymore. You're so different from him. He would never say something like that, be so open, that is. I must be hallucinating, or dreaming still in my bed, because neither you would, did. You don't feel that, not about me."

"Are you sure? What part of _I could save the world, but lose you_ you've missed? Wasn't a strong enough hint? And what about the Dalek in the bunker? Have you forgotten his speech?"

Rose shook her head again. "He's not you, not anymore, he's different."

"I am the same man, Rose, well same Time Lord, and even though I don't know in this form what next me will do, I know for certain that I'll never stop caring for you. He is _in love_ with you, Rose, even though he's, I am, still a coward and don't say it out loud." 

Rose was literally flabbergasted; all she could do was listen to him in awe.

"What I'm trying to tell you is: I'm too scared of losing you, of loving you beyond reason and lose everything when you'll walk away from me. I must have put a buffer between us to protect my hearts and sanity. As I see it, I'm beyond trying to protect my hearts, I'm already too far gone. And I have been for a very long time."

"Don't do that! Don't let me hope, then shatter my heart all over again," she pleaded.

"I won't! Not anymore. Go, Rose, find me, kiss some sense into my pretty, silly self, or I'll do it, not the kissing part, obviously, and I won't be... delicate, nor forgiving. I might even punch myself. Remember, Rose, same man, same thoughts, same memories and, most of all, same feelings."

Rose, too moved, simply nodded and reached for him caressing his jaw, then, under un impulse, she pressed her lips on his feeling as if he responded. "I love you!"

"You shouldn't. But I am a very lucky man, even if I don't deserve it."

"You deserve everything, Doctor."

"I doubt it, Rose, but I would be a fool if I didn't take with joy and gratefulness what the universe is willing to give. What _you_ are gifting me with."

"Will you remember this? This conversation, that is," she asked, suddenly ashamed and concerned.

"In good time, yes, I will remember. Don't worry, everything will be all right. Now, go."

"Just a last question, Doctor. Why are you being so open with me?"

He chuckled. "Because I can. And also to teach him a lesson and leave him handle this and behave as he should. I reckon he does deserve it, doesn't he?"

"That's a bit harsh," she laughed.

"No. If I don't want to lose you. I'll see you later then."

"Goodbye, Doctor."

"Goodbye, love. But, so you know, it's not a goodbye, as you're seeing me very soon. Go, find me, hurry!"

Rose turned and slowly exited the storage room, her steps lighter than before entering, and walked towards the galley.


	3. It's up to me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the last chapter: I’ve really loved to write it and try to explore their feelings and reactions to a given event.  
> In my headcanon they have grow up: the Doctor and Rose have become more conscious of the other’s feelings —and, of course, their own, and, Mickey, is free from the past and is on the way to become the hero he’ll indeed shows to be later.
> 
> Thank you all, so very much, for reading, commenting or leaving kudos: you’ve made me very happy!

**Chapter 3: It's up to me**

The Doctor was in sheer panic.

Rose had been avoiding him for three days. Not really avoiding per se, but as in not being in a place where he was, and eluding his search for her, which was pretty much the same. Six of one and half a dozen, potayto, potahto, tomayto, tomahto.

He wasn't ready, yet, to _actively_ go and find her in her room. He would rather bump into her, than force the issue and make matters worse. He was brave, well sort of, but not enough to face Rose, especially if she had inherited Jackie's propensity to the violent approach: he had already been on the receiving end of Jackie's wrath and was in no hurry to experience it again, even through Rose.

He knew very well that Mickey covered her with lies and cock-and-bull stories, which made him all the more furious and concerned.

The whole affair was becoming too much domestic for his liking.

If he discovered that the TARDIS had betrayed him, and had helped Rose, he would have to talk face to face with his stubborn and rebellious ship, and she would have some serious explanation to provide.

She was still humming angrily in his head and tenaciously refused to let him off the hook, or let him know where Rose was hiding.

The Doctor had the sinking feeling that his TARDIS was ganging up —against him, it went without saying— with his human companions; she had even singed him one time too many, which had led him to give up his repairs, and be left alone with his own musings as only diversion.

Back to his meditations about Rose, he wondered if he would, eventually, find her, and what he would do in that case.

He missed her beaming smile very much, he missed her hand in his. He craved her, full stop. It was hard to do without her and still keep a radiant expression with Mickey, who, obviously, wasn't fooled by his acting skills. 

The not-so-idiot Mickey, looked as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth and sported a knowing smirk, pushing the affront up to set the Doctor as his favourite target with his neither so veiled, nor welcomed allusions about his... condition.

In short: He wasn't ready to go and track her down where she, undoubtedly, was hiding from _him_ , for he was pretty certain she _wasn't_ hiding from Mickey; which, of course, rekindled his jealousy when Rickey the idiot was concerned.

Finding her would entail some explanations, a lot of apologies, or, worst scenario ever, an avowal which was out of the question to spell out in full. Although...

The intolerable, but perhaps the best for her, laid right in front of him if he didn't clear the air, at least a bit.

In his mind's eyes he could already see her pack up and ask him to bring her, for good, at Jackie's, slamming the door in his face and breaking his hearts in the process.

He had always been very good at pretending; although his Ninth self had never had a poker face with her, unlike himself —his Tenth self, that is— who, it must be said, was perfect at confusing the issue, but execrable at talking about his past and his feelings.

Yet she had to suspect his feelings for her, and that his friendship was anything but platonic, as she had always known how to see right through him. 

He had taken her for granted, _that_ was his biggest mistake with her. Well, one amongst a dozen or two less gross. From now on, he would show her how much she was important to him, since he couldn't even be able to voice it.

He was determined to put an end to his secrets and half-truths. The present, and hopefully the future, would see him more open than ever, at least in regard to Rose.

Finally set, he walked at leisurely pace towards the galley to prepare himself a cup of tea, and came face to face with the woman in question.

For the briefest moment he thought with gratitude about how well he mastered words; he could talk about almost everything in no matter the language, which would come in handy, especially at present. 

Alas, he realised with horror, his brain had short-circuited as he was unable to formulate a single sentence endowed with (common) sense.

"Hello!" His brightest smile, deceitfully candid, stretched his lips while he walked, nonchalantly, hands deep in his pockets, towards her, in the hope of buying a few precious seconds to put up a front and regain a semblance of control over his mouth and hearts.

After a few heartbeats —where there was such a silence that he'd have sworn he could have heard a pin drop— Rose said, "Hello, Doctor."

She was looking at everything but him, busying herself, with inordinate focus, on the preparation of her own tea. She also looked ready to run the one-hundred-metre race in his opposite direction. 

"Rose, I'm sorry, so sorry. I shouldn't have left you on that spaceship, but I had to  
safeguard history. I'm well aware you're livid and hurt, and you must have been pretty scared, not for yourself, that's not who you are, but for Mickey, your mother and the TARDIS. I don't dare hope you've been concerned about- Let's say, I had to save Madame de Pompadour. I swear I would have found a way back."

"Did you even know _where_ or _when_ , with precision, we were? You know, 51th century sound a bit vague."

"Not for me. I would have found a way, I wouldn't have left you there, ever!"

"Yet it's exactly what you've done. It's fine, Doctor, I understand. I know that she was important. Historical figure and the such," Rose said dithering, still offering him her back to look at. Then, after a few heartbeats, as for gathering her resolve, she whispered as for herself, "and to you." The other Doctor's words of reassurance sounding empty and still unbelievable in her ears.

The Doctor felt the urgency and the imperative to rectify her statement, even if it meant he had to force the words out the depths of his soul, where he guarded them jealously. It was the moment, or never, to take a few risks; otherwise he would lose her for good, if it wasn't already too late.

"No, Rose. I mean yes, she was important, so history would run smoothly, and just like fixed points she had to be protected, no matter the cost. Haven't you learned anything from the Reapers? But, no, she wasn't important to me, not in the sense that you mean."

"Doctor, I've seen the shape you were in when you came back. I've seen how much you've been affected by her death. Don't deny it. Not to me. Not for me. I'm your friend, and I understand. Really, Doctor."

"Rassilon, Rose. You don't understand. That wasn't... THAT," he almost shouted his last word.

"I do understand loss, Doctor. I understand love, fear, and grief. That's not because I'm a stupid ape that I don't understand your Mighty Time Lord's emotions."

"No. Obviously not. You don't _understand_ , Rose," he sighed. 

Upon seeing the lack of response from Rose, he stayed quiet for a few heartbeats, still waiting, then, as taking a decision, he asked abruptly, "are you with Mickey again?"

"I don't see what's it to you. What's to do with-"

"Just... answer, please. I've seen you and Mickey in your room, you know?" He had rotated her gently, and was looking squarely at her, refusing to let her eyes flee his. He wanted to find in her honey-coloured depths the explicit answer to his question. And, most of all, the answer to his implicit questionings about his companion.

"Ask Mickey. Have I ever asked if you were with _her_?"

"That wasn't what you think," he argued, trying with his eyes to convince her of the truth in his words.

"It's not important," Rose merely sighed.

"Yes, it is."

She just shook her head in denial. "No."

"Rose," his tone was firm and serious, the Oncoming Storm ready to be unleashed, his hand grasping firmly, but without hurting, her shoulder, "are. you. with. Mickey?"

"No. We're not together, officially since Cardiff," she answered with reluctance, but still combative. 

He smiled widely at her admission, but frowned seeing her belligerent expression.

"Still, I don't see the link between a 51th century spaceship and my love life. And, as I've said, it's none of your business." 

The Doctor's hand on Rose's shoulder relaxed, and he inhaled deeply. He was indescribably relieved: they weren't together. He hadn't lost her for a stupid ex boyfriend despite his gaffe. But, perhaps, he had lost her anyway, Mickey or not.

What had got into him to impair and endanger all that was the most important in the universe? Rassilon, for a genius he could be a very halfwit. 

Rose looked at him frowning, her arms crossed as if to put a barrier between them and protect herself from the heartbreak she was certain was coming.

What the Doctor said next, left her stand gaping.

"That's good. Good is very... good," he said with a shy smile, begging, again, the issue she had raised about her privacy. 

Rose was feeling pretty lost among her irritation for not being able to understand his mood swings, his chronic incompetence at being straightforward and direct, the Versailles betrayal and, deep down, despite herself, hope. The very same hope her Ninth Doctor had given her.

This senseless hope was making its way in her heart, and at the same time, was taking her capacity to think cool-headed —and see his hole card, or at least his intent— away.

"That's... good? Doctor? How do you mean _that's good_? Have you been infected by a virus, a pollen, or something like that?" she asked reaching for his forehead.

"Shush, Rose." He put his finger on her lips and smiled at her with infinite tenderness.

She was looking at him with wide eyes, and he could hear her frantic heartbeat, which was much more promising of a swift and happy result, than he had dared to hope before.

"No poison, no pollen, no virus, Rose Tyler. Just you and my hearts, which are more yours than ever." His eyes giving, finally, away his soul and baring his true feelings before the woman he loved.

Rose was astounded. She was on the verge of fainting at his words which, little by little, were breaking through her befuddled mind, and were assuming slowly a wholly new meaning. Her heart was about to pound right out of her chest as if it wanted to be freed from its cage. The pounding in her ears was almost deafening.

"Doctor?" she asked in a daze.

"Yes, Rose?"

"Are you sure about what you've just said? It's not a Time Lord's thing to say the opposite, like Aberdeen instead of Croydon, Cardiff instead of Naples, 19th century in lieu of 20th century and the such?" she asked wanting to be sure it wasn't just her mind playing tricks on her.

"Absolutely! I know exactly what I've said, I'm a genius after all and I know billions of languages. Everything is fine, Rose. Well, it will be very soon! Let me say and do what I should've said and done a very long time ago, _then_ it will be utterly fantastic, brilliant even." 

That said, he moistened his lips and leaned in pressing them on hers.

Suddenly, his arms were wrapping her waist and were pulling her even closer to him, until there was no space left between them.

 _Finally a true kiss_ , he told himself. No stolen kisses from Cassandra in Rose's body. No kiss, as pleasurable as it had been —even with its taste of tears and death— given with an undeniable reciprocal love, to take away the Time Vortex from her. 

_That_ kiss was the one which had mattered most; she would probably never remember it and, to be honest, he had made sure not to mention it. But _this_ kiss was just _theirs_ , both in their right minds. Just Rose and her Doctor, and it would be as magnificent as a first kiss should be.

Rose was too astounded —and entirely lost in the feeling of the Doctor's soft and pliant lips pressed to hers— to react and return the favour.

As for the Doctor, her hesitancy was a very bad sign: he took it as an indication that he was out to lunch, that Rose didn't want him after his tactlessness dealing with the whole Madame de Pompadour's affair, and was going —albeit regretfully— to let her go.

It was at that very moment that Rose, finally, chose to react and become a rather... energetic participant.

He zoned out, completely lost in her; it was so exquisite that he forgot everything, all the reasons for not letting him —them— have this, denying what they, manifestly, wanted more than everything in the universe. 

After a while, he let her go to let her breathe, but couldn't help himself from keeping her as close as he could.

Rose sighed contentedly, while he caressed her hair lovingly.

"I hope that's all right, you're not opposed to this?"

She laughed, "More than all right, Doctor. It's about time, even. But what if _you_ regret it? Tomorrow, in a minute-"

"Never, Rose. I will never ever regret doing what's right. And you? No regrets?"

"Never, Doctor!"

"But you've kissed Mickey. Are you certain you wouldn't rather be with him?"

"And _you_ 've kissed her."

"No. _She_ has kissed me."

"Whatever."

"No whatever, Rose. My question still stand. Are you sure? No Mickey? I am an old man, Rose Tyler, an alien to you."

The jealous hypocrite! Of course he absolutely didn't regret kissing her. He had every intention of kissing her again as soon as possible, repeatedly, anytime, anywhere, preferably everywhere... and perhaps more if affinities.

"Shush, Doctor!" Rose mimicked his gesture and covered his lips with her right forefinger whispering, "I'm sure. No Mickey, no Adam, no Jack, just you. I want to be with you. No more excuses, no age gaps, no alien's nonsenses. If you're willing, then I am. But, please Doctor, no more misunderstandings, no more things left unsaid, and no more Jabe, Lynda, or anyone else, with a title or not!"

"I promise. No more pretty girls, or _boys_ for that matter," he said making a double cross over his hearts, "you know you are a true magnet for pretty boys, don't you? I'll have to fight them all! And with your habit of wandering off, there will be plenty ready to _help >/i> you_. So, from now on: no wandering off!"

"I can't help it, everybody loves me." Rose jested. 

"Quite right, too." 

"Exactly." 

They smiled at each other, sharing a secret and an entire universe between them, until the Doctor cleared his throat and admitted, "I would very much like to kiss you again." 

"It's you who has so rudely interrupted-" 

"It can be fixed." 

"Stop talking. Just kiss me again, silly alien!" Rose grabbed him by his tie to bring his lips to hers. 

The Doctor couldn't find any faults with this, and let himself go for it. 


End file.
